Oh, the Irony: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Self-Righteousness

My Dear Reader,

I think the more time I spend in this world, the more I'm starting to understand that beyond the physical needs, like food, water, shelter, and oxygen; human beings have certain psychological needs. There's the need for community, companionship, etc., but I find that one of the needs that drives some of our most outrageous behavior is the human need for goodness. That is, we all have an overwhelming desire to feel like a good person.

Mostly, I think it's a very beneficial thing to the human race. We are constantly striving to be good; to be better. And we have standards that define what good and better are. Morals! We have morals!

Awesome, right?

The problem starts when the desire to be good conflicts with the thousands of other desires that we have. Despite our efforts to be good, we often find ourselves doing what is bad.

But, (un)luckily for us, we have a built-in loop hole. If the human psyche does not have what it needs to feel like a good person, it instead desires to feel like a good person in comparison to others. I think it's the way our brains justify the fact that we can never truly live up to our own standards. If we can't be perfect, we can at least be better than Suzie or Paul. So it's okay that we do X, because Suzie does Y, which is definitely worse. And Paul? Well, Paul does Z, which makes our X look like nothing, really. So we're fine.

The pursuit of righteousness is modified into the pursuit of self-righteousness. Problem solved.

This kind of behavior is self-defeating enough when we're comparing our sins to the sins of others, but when we start doing this with virtues, it just gets weird.

Like when somebody decides, for whatever reason, to leave ethical standards behind. Sometimes it's one specific standard, and sometimes it's all of them. And I mean, just deciding not to have standards is one thing, but most people seem incapable of doing just that. They don't abandon standards as much as they reject them. They decide that something in the system of ethics is unethical. And then, they not only reject their standards, they replace them with new ones. And the most bizarre part of it all is that the new standards generally have absolutely nothing to do with the old ones.

Confused? Allow me to clarify:

Let's say there's a person out there who's a little different than us. Maybe they're different physically. Or maybe they have a differences in opinions. Or maybe they're famous (somehow, that's all you need). And say that person decides that their different-ness means that they don't have to abide by all of those pesky standards that the majority of the common folk hold dear. They aren't the same, therefore they don't have to follow the same rules, and thus, they conclude, it is actually righteous for them to consider themselves an exception.

No, not an exception. Exceptional. Better.

And how are they better? Well, didn't you know? They found an ethical behavior that the rest of us missed. And they follow that ethical behavior so much better than the rest of us that it makes us look like barbarians.

And the truth is that usually it's not that we've missed that ethical behavior; we just don't care about it. It's such a low priority that it's just a blip on the average morality radar.

It's like saying that it doesn't really matter that Suzie pays her taxes and you don't; you're still better than she is because you always use your turn signal. Or that even though Paul is kind, you're better because you're a good speller. Where is the logic in that? The very fact that we need to justify ourselves proves that what we're doing is wrong, no matter what Suzie or Paul do.

I mean, there's probably a serial killer out there who pats himself on the back because he never forgets his reusable shopping bags. And maybe that self-righteousness he feels guides him in choosing his victims!

And while that's an extreme example, I think we all do a smaller version of this on a semi-regular basis.

And the true irony in it is that our desire for goodness has somehow made us completely forget what goodness is. Somehow, we've turned into people who care more about putting poor Suzie and Paul down than we care about living up to our own idea of morality.

You'd think we'd be smarter than that.

Regards, best wishes, and just leave Suzie and Paul alone, they've been through enough already, they forgot their reusable bags and that killer is on the loose,

-Cecily Jane

Procrastination: Why Planning Ahead Is Just Not as Fun

My Dear Reader,

So, I'm kind of the greatest procrastinator of all time.

Don't believe me?

You would understand this simple truth if you saw me in college, or especially high school, where I learned most of my skills. Amateur procrastinators do their homework the night before or on their morning bus ride. I, the professional, routinely got my physics homework done in homeroom, then got my math problems done in physics, then got my English essays written in math. It was a very efficient way of going about it, in my opinion, because when you've got a part-time job, you're in marching band and academic decathlon, you have to go to church activities, and there was important TV to watch, there just weren't enough hours in the day to do things ahead of time. I mean, Smallville was still decentish* back then. Who has time to learn things when Tom Welling is going to be on your TV screen? WHO?

And even though I was pretty much a procrastinator from the first finger painting assignment in kindergarten, you might be surprised to learn that at the beginning of high school, I had been determined to change. You know, fresh start and all that. My plan was to get to class on time, get things done early, and get a perfect 4.0 GPA for four whole years so that I could get into my dream college and live happily ever after. No big deal.

My biggest challenge at the time was in Spanish 1, where we had the monster of all assignments. At the end of the year, we were supposed to turn in a notebook filled with copies of every single grammar lesson in our textbook, plus each vocabulary list copied five times.

It seemed like an impossible task until I had one genius idea: I had biology before Spanish, and the two classes were close enough that I could get to Spanish with five or so minutes to spare. Why not use that time every day to get a tiny bit of my project done? Five minutes a day meant 25 minutes a week, which meant over and hour and a half every month. My plan was so successful that I actually ended up finishing my notebook assignment months ahead of time.

So that was a victory, right? I should have learned that planning ahead and making schedules was the only way to go. But then, something happened.

At this time in my life, Madre used to insist on cleaning my room for me. Maybe she just wanted to be extra sure that I wasn't doing drugs**. Maybe she had given up all hope that the room would get clean by any other method, and she was trying to save me from the tragic fate of drowning in my own dirty clothes. It's hard to tell. All I know is that I'm in the other room trying to contemplate the complexities of, uh, Tom Welling and the other annoying people that all too frequently stopped him from being onscreen when I hear my Madre say:

"Cecily, I found this notebook for your Spanish class. Do you need it?"

And I said:

"Yes! It's a project worth twenty percent of my grade, and I spent hours and hours working on it, and I'll probably take it to college to use as a reference."

And Madre said:

"Okay."

And by "okay," she meant, "I'm going to throw this away into a deep, dark corner of the Earth where you will never be able to find it."

It took me a few days to realize the great crime that had occurred, since I didn't think to look for it until it was almost due. By then, it was gone, and when Madre was confronted with the evil deed that had been done, she explained that when she'd asked me if I needed the notebook, I had yelled back some incoherent mumblings about buying twenty reference books in college.

I was slightly upset.

I had spent, once you added it all up, a great portion of my free time completing this assignment. And what was I supposed to do? Go to class the next day and tell my teacher that my Madre cleaned my homework? I argued, begged, and pleaded with her to at least write a note explaining that it was all her fault and that she had forever ruined any chance I had at happiness.

She wrote me a note, alright. I got a peek at it before I turned it in. It went something like this:

"Mr. Martinez,

"Please understand that my daughter, Cecily, keeps her room so messy that she is unable to find anything, and I fear that she will one day die of suffocation. As a result, she did not bring whatever assignment you gave her."

Thanks, Madre. Thanks.

I ended up getting a B in Spanish, despite all of the hard work I did. And then I kind of decided that it wasn't really worth it to plan ahead. Ever. The more you plan, the greater the chance you have that something will go terribly, terribly wrong.

I mean, I did plan big things. Like, I had a specific university I wanted to get into, and there were certain things I had to do in order to be a good candidate. But day-to-day things? There were just too many ways it could all get messed up. And when I got into that dream school and the stakes got higher, I found that there's a kind of thrill that you only get when you have a ten-page research paper due in less than twelve hours, and all you have is half of a topic. 


And I discovered that being a procrastinator made me flexible, and being flexible opened me up to a lot of fun, random, and unique experiences that I would have never had otherwise. Like the time I got kidnapped. Or the time I failed a study skills class. Or the time a teacher actually believed that I came to class drunk (when I wasn't). Or the time I bought over-sized, sheer granny panties as a graduation gift.

So many stories!

And besides that, there were a lot of friendships that my flexibility helped forge, because if you lived in my apartment complex and you wanted a buddy for a 3 AM Wal-Mart run, well, I was your girl. If it was four in the afternoon and you were bored out of your mind, I would usually arrive at your doorstep. And if you ever needed a plate of cookies, I would make them magically appear.

I mean, I did have goals in college. I wanted to graduate. I wanted to overcome my crippling depression. I ended up doing both of those things. But I didn't have a fifty-point plan on how to do it. And it was better that way, for me.

I was really disappointed to find that the rules changed once I left school. When you get past your early twenties, people really expect you to act responsible, especially if you're a good Mormon girl who has never touched a drop of liquor. Especially if you have a full-time job. And especially, especially if you ever expect people to take you seriously.

Apparently, that's a thing.

But rules change, people make mistakes, and sometimes that final moment is when you get your biggest spark of creativity. The more stringent your plans, the more someone or something can come in and ruin everything. Maybe it will be your worst enemy, or the woman who gave birth to you. But things rarely end up the way you originally intended, right? So why get so hung up on the specifics? Why not have a general idea of where you want to end up, and try to find the most entertaining way to get there?

And sure, I'm not a Ph. D., or the CEO of Facebook, or an astronaut. Those paths are for other people, who don't have nearly as much free time to right crazy things like this post.

Good thing that blogging is free, right?

Regards, best wishes, and spontaneity,

-Cecily Jane

*And by decentish, I mean that the writing and acting wasn't awful enough to distract you from Tom Welling's perfect face and abs, er, personality. Yes. Of course, after a few seasons, it got so darn ridiculous that not even he could even things out. I know. It was a sad end to the only celebrity crush I really ever had.

**A hilarious thought, really. I spent the majority of my teenage years trying to get off of drugs. But that's another story.

Knights and Damsels

My Dear Reader,

I hate, hate, hate not being in control of my own situation. Not that I seem to have any power to avoid it, mind you. Being incredibly awkward and remarkably unlucky can do a lot to mess up one's plans of an ordered life. I, for example, would much prefer it if I could manage to make coherent conversation when I'm around people whom I want to impress. This, however, is rarely the case. I suppose I should be grateful for so many lessons in humility. Frankly, I can't count the amount of times I've walked away from one of those experiences with the strong desire to shoot myself in the face.

Really, I feel like for me, any endeavor to not look like an idiot is mostly pointless. I'm not sure why I keep trying.

And sometimes it's not even my fault. Sometimes, the world is just dead set against me having any dignity.

Take my car, for example. His name is Hugo, and he likes to break down in the middle of the night while I'm taking important guests to important destinations. He also likes to automatically lock himself when the keys are inside and I am not.

And when something like that happens, I really would prefer to just be swallowed up into the depths of the ocean than to ask for help. Because whether I could control it or not, being in trouble like that means that I have failed somehow. It makes me look stupid and incapable, and that's not how I want the world to see me.

It occurs to me that traditionally, that's not how it's supposed to be. As a woman, I'm supposed to play the part of the damsel in distress, awaiting a knight in shining armor who will swoop in and save the day.

And it's not that there aren't enough knights out there. I just make an awful damsel.

Being in distress, for instance, is not something I like discussing until long after it's passed. It's a lot more comfortable to hide behind a mask of indifference and make discreet inquiries until I can figure out how to solve my own problems. Then, once the moment has passed and the problem has been solved, I'll enjoy telling you about my harrowing journey.

But in the moment, when everything is falling apart and I'm at my wit's end, the last thing I want to do is make people aware of the trouble I'm in.

Partly, it's because I really hate bothering people. I have this instinctual idea that in general, most people are better off with as little contact with me as possible. Especially when I'm a wreck.

Partly, it's because of that look people give me, and the way it makes me feel. It's that look that a parent gives to an idiot child. And I'm neither an idiot nor a child. I'm just a dork.

And partly, it's because when someone helps you out of a jam, like sliding a slim jim through the crevices of your car door to get Hugo's darn locks unlocked, you automatically owe them something. And while I hate being in debt, I really hate debts when the method of repayment is not clear. Is it enough just to be friendly and use this to start a neighborly relationship? Or am I obligated to repay the kindness with a plate of cookies? And what kind of cookies are the most appropriate? Or should I bake a cake? Or a pie? Or maybe a whole meal? Or maybe, I will do all of these things and still never feel like I've done enough.

Really, the process of being rescued is often more disconcerting than being in distress in the first place.

I realize, though, that there are plenty of women who are experts at damsel-try. They can make knights appear out of thin air. If there's a guy they like, they can invent a catastrophe just to get attention. They can even pull it off so that the whole thing actually makes them seem desirable.

And really, why is helplessness so desirable? Why can't tardiness make a girl desirable? Because I've got that one in the bag. I also have an unlimited supply of useless-but-interesting trivia and I know when to use "who" and "whom."

It's a shame, really, that these skills aren't in higher demand.

I suppose that at this point, I should concede to the fact that people need to be needed, and that knights are no exception. I definitely get that. And I definitely do need people, despite my efforts to obtain total independence. Some days, I can be helpless on an almost hourly basis. And it's not that I don't appreciate being saved from catastrophe. I just don't want you to see me when I'm not at my best.

So, Dear Reader, if you happen to be the knight-in-shining-armor type, I would hope you would give a girl a chance and be open to the possibility that a girl can still need you, even if she's too much of a dork to show it properly. Even if it takes her hours and hours of fearing that asking for your help will cross some kind of line.

Even if she's afraid that she isn't good enough to be helped.

I would hope that you would be patient and kind enough to let a girl see you as a knight long, long before she feels secure enough to let you see her as a damsel. Because if you want to find a girl who will go out of her way to not manipulate you, you would be off to a pretty good start.

And when the inevitable day comes when I manage to make a complete fool of myself in front of you, I hope you will, at the very least, understand that I am very often a very competent and capable human being.

You will, won't you?

Regards, best wishes, and here's hoping that I didn't do it again,

-Cecily Jane

"Remove This Cup"

My Dear Reader,

In the course of twenty-six years of church attendance, I have encountered Eliza R. Snow's great hymn, "Behold the Great Redeemer Die" countless times. I know it almost by heart.

As you may know or might have guessed, the hymn tells the story of the Savior's atonement, death, and resurrection. Pretty heavy stuff. The words paint a picture of suffering and sacrifice that is both haunting and enlightening. But it is the beginning of the fourth verse, the last verse usually sung, that really sticks out to me. Mostly because it has an almost contradictory message to the previous verses. These are the words that pierce my heart:

"'Father, from me remove this cup/But if thou wilt, I'll drink it up.'"

This, of course, is a reference to Luke 22:42. It's the final thing Jesus says before beginning the process of atoning for the sins of all mankind, before He would sweat out His own blood. These are the words He spoke as He prepared to die so that the children of God might rise again.

But I wonder if there is more to these words than that. I wonder if these, like so many of the words of Jesus, are a pattern for how we are to live our lives.

Perhaps it is a motto for us to live by.

I do not believe that God expects us to court suffering. We are not to try to increase our suffering as a way to get closer to God. This is something that has often been misunderstood. God expects us to court holiness, love, and joy. These things are what we should be seeking after. Sorrow, pain, and grief will follow us on our journey, but they are not why we are on the road.

Perhaps this is the true lesson of the Atonement. Or, at least, a crucial part of it.

When Christ, the greatest of all of us, the only one of us who actually did everything right, and the Only Begotten of the Father said "remove this cup," He was teaching us that it is not cowardly or sinful to want as little pain as possible. But when God calls, we answer. When He asks, we do. We may ask questions. We may be confused. But of we are faithful, we will do what we are asked, no matter the cost. If we want holiness, love, and joy, we must be willing to pay the price.

Jesus did not want His stripes. He wasn't anxious to suffer. But when He was asked to drink that cup and suffer an eternity of pain and torment, He did it all without complaint. He did it because even though there were things that He wanted for Himself, He knew that helping us was more important. When He compared the benefit to the cost, He was willing to do what was necessary.

That is how we need to be.

We will not have to suffer the same magnitude of pain that Christ did, but we all have our bitter cups to drink. We all have weaknesses to overcome and burdens to bear. We all have to change. And we're mostly not going to like it.

But if we are true disciples of Jesus Christ, we realize that we want something more than to simply be spared.

If we are true followers of Christ, we realize that we are not here in this Earth to change God. We are here on this Earth so that God could change us. Change is not only uncomfortable; it often hurts. But change is necessary. If we trust God, we will accept that in all things, He knows better.

And when He asks us to give up what we love, and when He asks us to suffer, it is okay for us to get on our knees and tell Him the truth. It is okay for us to tell Him that it is hard, that it will hurt, and that we sincerely do not want to do it. It is even okay for us to asked to be spared.

But then, as Christ did, we are to then tell God that we will do it anyway. And then we must do it, whatever it is.

And I think that as we faithfully follow God, we will be able to find joy if we continue to look for it. If we remind ourselves that joy is our goal. Pain is only the cost, and it will eventually pass. The joy we seek will be with us forever.

And God and Jesus Christ will be there, too.

Regards, best wishes, and as little pain as possible,

-Cecily Jane